Megan and the Guy, Chapters 4 and 5

Chapter Four, in which frogs attempt to divert attention; 

ulterior motives are revealed; magical objects of value are retrieved; and certain criminals are heartily flabbergasted.

Once Nadia and Morgan were back to their normal selves, Megan told them about the unbearably irritating unicorn. They all agreed that they should surprise attack the thief’s house and Megan and Morgan should sneak in and retrieve the stone while Nadia distracted anyone who was inside.

         “How should I distract him, though?” Nadia asked.

“Use your imagination, Nadia. Turn into a flying magical hippopotamus that hiccups on command or something.” Morgan insisted. Nadia gaped at Morgan, wondering how she had thought of something so bizarre. “Why would I want to do that? Hiccupping hurts; wouldn’t it be better if I could belch or sneeze or something?” Megan sighed and put her head down. This is never going to work if I have to put up with these two imbeciles. Megan was really worrying about carrying out their plan, now. But they continued on anyway, toward the house next to the tree that the unicorn told Megan about. After minutes of exhausting travel, they finally reached the house. It was small, really small, like not-even-big-enough-for-a-half-dwarf small. The unicorn must have been wrong when he said that this guy was human. As they were standing outside the house, an abnormally small half-elf stepped out, carrying a platter of freshly baked cookies.

“Would you like to try some of my famous oatmeal cookies, my ladies?” he asked politely, too politely.

“Who do you work for?!” Megan demanded immediately, grabbing the little man by the collar of his shirt. “No one is that polite and courteous. So I’ll say it again: who do you work for?!”

“The thief. I work for the thief,” he squeaked, “he hired me to trick you into eating these poison cookies. He said that you were looking for a stone. He has it, though. He keeps it in his home. He lives in the tree. Please don’t hurt me!” Megan set the pathetic little guy down, realizing that she had accidentally left second-degree burns on the skin of his neck. Ouch, that would take a while to heal. Poor guy. Megan actually pitied him.  Megan and the other two girls didn’t wait for anyone to tell them to start up the tree. Nadia shifted into a koala bear to make climbing easier, but unfortunately Megan and Morgan were stuck relying on just their human forms.

“Okay, when we get up there, Nadia, you distract him, while Morgan and I sneak in to grab the stone. Same plan as before, just in a tree.” Megan declared. The koala bear nodded its head; she had heard. Once they reached the top, Nadia transformed into a giant frog, Megan’s hands turned pink, and Morgan pretended that she knew kung fu.

Nadia, in giant frog form, made a great distraction, and Megan had no trouble getting inside. But once she was in the tree house, she stood in shock. For in front of her, lounging on an enormous couch was the unicorn. He unleashed a devious cackle, his eyes now glowing an evil shade of purple.  This wasn’t going to work out well; Megan could just feel it.

“You may have gotten past the cookie maker, but you’ll never find the stone! I have hidden it so well, that even I may never find it again.” He then set free another spell of hideous, evil laughter. Morgan then let out a cry from behind the enormous davenport.

“I found it! It was in a bowl labeled ‘magical stones’” She held up her stone in the air, victoriously. The unicorn just frowned, sadly, disappointed with himself.

Chapter Five, in which happy endings occur

THE END.

The Great Jasteirra

For a recap, view posts with label "Kajul/Anora"


Jasteirra froze with shock, as if she’d been caught in a sorcerer’s spell. For an entire minute, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her father was dead; the king was dead; her own brother killed him; the prince killed him. Thoughts formed tangled knots in her head. Is he here to kill me? She desperately racked her mind for a solution. But the answer was clear; she’d seen the look on her brother’s, Shaelan’s, face. Shaelan intended to kill her, probably right where she lay.

            “Shay,” she expressed dumbly, her mouth hanging open. He looked at her funny, like she was stupid.

            “Jez, are you entirely obtuse?” the prince laughed, “I come here, to kill you; I have just slain our father, the king; and now I have practically slit your throat. But you, you don’t put up a fight, don’t scream, don’t even try to preserve your own precious life. You just stare at me with those doe eyes, as if it will sway me to spare you, just like old times.” Jasteirra inconspicuously inched a few steps away, totally avoiding Shaelan’s notice.  “I am going to kill you, you know. And once you’re dead, yes, once you’re gone, there will be no one to question me, no one standing in my way. I will be king, king of all Anora. What will everyone think, sister, when they hear that the great Jasteirra, the uncatchable Jasteirra, fell without a word—that you didn’t care that you would die, when you took your final breath.” Throughout his whole speech, the prince had remained oblivious to the fact that Jasteirra had composed herself, shifted positions so that she balanced on only one knee, and had pulled a dagger from her  pocket. As soon as Shaelan had ended his monologue, she pounced, throwing her knife at him. It struck him precisely in the center of his chest, slicing open his heart. Shaelan’s wide eyes stared down at the blade poking through his ribs. That will teach him not to underestimate me again, Jasteirra thought. The prince collapsed to the ground, facing the consequences of his grave mistake.

            “I thought I told you, Shay,” she mocked, “ you’re much too talkative.” She smiled, seeing the hate in his eyes. That was the last emotion he would ever feel, the fury burning within him. 

Chloe

She stared pensively at the mirror, as if trying to figure out who she was, or maybe just trying to memorize her own face. She may have forgotten before, but she wouldn’t forget this time. No, not again; never again…
Even though she knew not to be frightened by her own reflection, she was still haunted by the stranger’s face staring back at her from the looking glass. A stain hung ominously in the upper right hand corner of the mirror. There, the word, ‘Chloe’, was written in cherry red lipstick, waiting for someone to find it.Maybe that was my name, she reasoned with herself, maybe I was Chloe. She let her hand sweep over the mysterious writing, as if it might trigger some sort of memory, but nothing came. Ever since she’d woken in the room with no recollection of who she was, nothing had felt right. Not the grass green paint covering the walls; not the giant stuffed bear taking up half of the space in the unfamiliar room; not the music box in the corner, playing a melancholy tune; none of it felt right.
She paced back and forth, trying to find something that did feel right, something that might help her remember, something familiar to hold in her foreign, alien hands.
There was a resounding squeak behind her. She turned her head to see what it was. Her heart skipped a beat at what she saw in the doorway to the room. A tall, teenage, redheaded girl with eyes greener than the wall was staring at her, shocked.
“Holy God! What the Hell are you doing in my room?!”

Landing

Jasmine stood there, on the edge of nothingness, looking down into the dark abyss. She didn’t know what was down there. Heck, she didn’t even know if there was a down there. The large crevasse before her, for all she knew, could continue on forever. Either way, she had to go through it. The others wouldn’t understand, they’d think her to be mad, except Jessica. Jessica might understand. Still, she couldn’t tell anyone, they’d all try to stop her. And maybe that would be for the best. Who knew where Jasmine would end up when she dove head first into the darkness?
No, no second thoughts, she thought to herself. She couldn’t wait any longer. The sun was almost set. Jasmine, without another wisp of doubt, leaped into the dour, relentless chasm. No going back, She whispered softly to herself as if it would matter now. She fell for what seemed like hours, floating in and out of consciousness. Her hair flew upwards, like a giant upside-down waterfall. Her feet stopped beneath her as she suddenly came to a halt. She bent her knees as she landed; that was what Margaret had taught her to do while landing. It still hurt her legs, considering she had been falling for a while, but hey, it could be worse.
She glanced around her to see where she was and took a deep breath in surprise. All around her, green lush trees with immense canopies relaxed in oddly shaped groves. Directly in front of her was a small pond, just big enough for a few koi and goldfish. Light flooded the odd landscape from a source unknown to Jasmine. Where the Hell am I? She whispered, barely audible.

The Wolves of Kajul

Jasteirra ran as fast as she could, trying to escape the menacing creatures that were at her heels. One of the Wolves caught the edge of her skirt, pulling her down to the hard, cold ground. Her face slammed into the dirt, and she felt currents of blood streaming down her leg. She could not do it; she could not escape now; she was dead. Jasteirra put her hands to her ears weakly, attempting to block out the overwhelmingly cacophonous howls of the Wolves of Kajul.
She felt one of the beasts sniffing her side; it was nauseating. Jasteirra then heard an ominous sound from behind her, not a Wolf. They were footsteps that loomed closer every moment that passed. She sucked in a sharp breath of air, holding it. She could feel her heartbeat quickening to the increasingly closer sounds of the strange steps. But she didn’t have to wait for the mysterious being to reach her.
A loud battle cry erupted from behind her. She heard the sounds of swords clashing, a brawl being launched. Who was it that was attacking? Was he here to help her or hurt her? In a world like this, Jasteirra didn’t know who she could trust. Even her own best friends had betrayed her to the Sorcerer of Kajul. Suddenly, the sound of someone falling to the ground flooded her ears.
She feebily  pulled herself up from the ground, to see what had taken place. Laying on the ground was her own father, dead, and standing above him, a victorious expression on his face, was the Prince to the throne of Anora.
“Hello, sister.” he declared maliciously.

Portal

Ryan meandered aimlessly down the dark, abandoned halls of the school. His watch beeped furiously, telling him what he already knew: it was midnight.

“Happy Friday the thirteenth,” He whispered sarcastically to himself. He looked down at the linoleum tile floor, the blue and white checkerboard pattern almost invisible without the fluorescent light that would usually be switched on during the day. He waited for Sean to come; he should have been here by now. He paced back and forth, wondering where his comrade was. They needed to do it tonight, when it was still Friday the Thirteenth—that was the day the portal was able to be opened, the day they could get rid of their problems forever. If they did this, they would be back on the team for good. He couldn’t do it if Sean didn’t come, though. Sean was the key; his blood alone could open the door to the long forgotten world.

Ryan jumped at a small muffled sound coming from down the hall. He had to remember that they weren’t the only ones who wanted to open the portal– the Gregori brothers needed this too.  If those three got through the portal, all of this would be lost, all of their work for nothing. It would all be over. So where was Sean? Ryan gathered up his courage and ambled down the deserted hall, silently praying for the best.

The muffled noises got louder, the farther he walked. As he reached the last door, he knew that whatever it was, or whoever it was, was inside the room. Ryan stuck his hand in his pocket and held on tight to his rosary, knowing that if this was what he thought it was, even God could not save him. He reluctantly kicked the door open, hoping his bravado would not leave him. A single chair stood in the middle of the room. Sean sat, tethered in the uncomfortable kindergarten chair, his mouth gagged. His eyes widened with worry, a look that Ryan recognized immediately, for he had given it many times himself. It said Run! That was when Ryan saw him, with broad shoulders and eyes black like night. His muscles pulsed on his arms. He was like a boulder, strong and unmovable. Ryan felt like he would faint just looking at him. Ryan knew that his life was forfeit now; nothing could save him or Sean, nothing from this world anyway. Their lives were at the mercy of Vincenzo Gregori.

Live for the Hunt

The girl ran stealthily through the forest, alert and calm. Clad from head to toe with bandana, war paint, and torn clothes all of red, she silently wished her crimson attire didn’t so starkly contrast with the deep greens and earthy browns of the surrounding trees. Yet at the same time, there was no other color she’d rather be wearing than the Red of the Southern Empire. And she was a Southern Warrior, the best of the best. Her job- kill or be killed. She crept silently through the forest undetected by the pair of Eastern Empire Soldiers she’d been hunting for the past few days, waiting for the right moment to make her move. What a waste, she mused to herself, drawing her weapon. The East was green, and they were spoiling the advantage by being stupid. Sad, really.She heard a quiet snap behind her and instinctively spun around to face the sound, finding herself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.


~E.

Not Dead

Melanie stared, stared into the massive arctic barren wasteland. The ice was everywhere, coating the once visible ground in a film of protective chill. Protecting it from what, Melanie didn’t know. A howl ripped through the frozen badlands. Melanie shivered, not stopping to wonder where it had come from. She already knew. It was the Wolves. She hoped she’d get farther before they’d caught her trail, but alas, her luck wasn’t going to change so soon.
They had been chasing her since the Toronto incident, when her brother, Tom, had set off the bomb. The explosion had killed Mr. Carver. No doubt, that was the reason they were chasing them, hunting them. Melanie and Tom could always stop, always surrender, give in to the madmen that had taken their mother from them. But this was war, and you never give up unless you’re left with no choice.
Melanie took Tom’s hand and started running, running for her life, Tom’s life, the lives of everyone who would die if they didn’t win this war. Jonas, Mr. Burman, Chloe, Sally Anne, Ole Johnson Harris were all counting on them. Melanie began to wish that they hadn’t left that car at the airport in Montreal. They were never going to outrun the menacing cries of the Wolves. Tears solidified halfway down her face as she sprinted across the frozen tundra, practically dragging Tom behind her. She couldn’t feel her nose; her fingers and toes were frostbitten; and her eyelashes caught snowflakes before they could reach the ground.
Melanie came to a sudden halt. There was something in front of her. Not something, someone, she thought. She found herself trapped as she saw the face of the man in front of her. She thought he was dead. He couldn’t be alive; she’d seen the remains of the building he’d been in, blown to pieces, nothing had been spared. Tom became paralyzed when he saw the reason why Melanie had stopped, for directly in front of the twin siblings stood Mr. Carver, alive and healthy as ever.